Tragic - Blog Posts
Ta-da!!! Here is MY take on the backstory of Agatha Harkness and Rio Vidal! Short chapter to start off with, but hopefully they will increase in length as the story goes on
Here is the description directly from AO3!
“Agatha Harkness has been condemned all her life, until eventually, she is pushed to her breaking point. Through a grave sacrifice, she gains what she has always thought she needed to truly live; power.
Now on the run, she moves up and down the colonial Northeast in search of it, craving it like a drug. Desperately holding onto it as her lifeline.
And one pestering, yet beautiful, presence seems to be following her across her journey.
But she can’t be bothered, her eyes are set on something considered mythical and unattainable.
And deadly.
OR
A backstory mostly made up of a mix of canon/headcanons for Agatha and Rio, because we all deserve one! And the author is actually insane?”
all the people i wasted poems on
i hope you get your peace
i hope this lets you feel release
i hope the hurt was worth it
i hope the feeling raw
i hope it scalds when you remember me
and burns the skin right off your lying maw
Thank you @stwah for the art challenge! For everyone else, get feelz-ed with this AU of Beauty and the Beast where Belle never came back. Now GET CHALLENGED!! Credit to o0_sigsi_ for the base, @ them, and/or me and Stwah with your rendition <3 We'd both love to see them! Here's the template:
O my goodness. They were listening to us...
Also hahahahah eyah
did you imagine your own tragic death a lot as a child or are you normal
"A House with No Mirrors"
I live in a house. A house with no mirrors.
What am I hiding from, you may wonder. What is it that I don't want to see?
Is it the way my mother's smile quivers when she's been hurt? Or the violent anger my father's fist holds?
Is it them I'm avoiding? Or… is it me?
Do I hate the curve of my nose, the same nose I share with my father? Or is it the hint of my mother's cheekbones, that I can't stand?
Do I despise the oppressor or pity the victim? Do I…. fear them? Fear becoming them? Or do I fear myself?
Which category do I belong to? Which one am i? A perfect blend of the oppressor and the oppressed. Where do I fit in?
In the broken cracks, where the world forgot, or perhaps, chose to forget, about me because it's so much easier to ignore than accept that there's a gaping flaw in the system. Where at some point, I too forgot the feeling of a warm embrace and loving eyes. And with the broken shards of time, I forgot my own name. Just like I hope to forget my own face.
I look in the mirror. Who am I looking at this time? A monster? Or his slave? Whose face do I see more?
Whichever one it is, I know for a fact that it's not my face that I see but theirs.
Always theirs.
I was cursed from birth. I was cursed to carry the DNA of two contradicting forces. They've blended inside me, melded as one just to create a disgusting mess of weaknesses, insecurities and existential issues. I wouldn't know where I began and they ended, what part of me even belongs to myself.
I had the misfortune to live among thieves. They stole my childhood, my sanity and now my face.
Heads turn away refusing to accept that mistakes were made. I guess I inherited that as well.
I hide away.
In moments of despairing sadness, I see my mother's lifeless smile instead of mine and in moments of rage… well. I don't like to look at that.
I wish I could see my mother's curiously intelligent mind. Or my father's sharp, observing gaze. But…
I live in a house with no mirrors because I'm afraid of what I might see this time.
I fade away.
~Me
Ahhemmmm, I feel called out. I could write several books about … or …….. or …… or the love of my life that I thought would be with me and essentially couldn’t have at that time. Tristian, my love, darling I wish I could have adopted you. A small adorable kitten, you captured my heart at first sight, with minutes I knew that that was something I hadn’t felt before, I this short amount of time. I imagined a whole life together, me reading my book, and your gray fur and magnificent soul distracting me. Not in a way I would get annoyed but in way that brings a gentle smile upon my face. A way that I could be mesmerized by your soul existence.A way that sparks some warmth in this cold, emotionless heart. Now, I have no clue where you might be, don’t forget about me, for I love you. ❤️ You are a love I couldn’t possibly have. A love that will never be fulfilled.
„For you, I was a chapter. For me, you were the book.“
— Tom McNeal, A quote by Tom McNeal
Your love hurts
I don’t know what it is about you
That makes you sabotage it every single time
Ripping craters into earth
Opening gates to what might be called hell
Standing on the edge, balanced
Grabbing my hand
Jumping
Clamped together
I never wanted to fall
Life on the edge was great
But again and again
You need us to hurt
So here we are
Falling
and falling
and falling
and falling
~ honestlywhatfor ~
She fucked up
There’s this girl. She just thought of your smile and the way your hand runs through your hair that has gotten way too long again.
And she cuddles up in bed and wishes you would be next to her, snoring, but unintentionally pullin her closer to your chest.
There’s this girl. She remembers every minute you two have spent together and she gets sad whenever you are gone for too long.
And she sits next to her friends who are making fun of her for falling for a guy that isn’t even her type.
There’s this girl. She thinks a lot about her Ex lately, but only because she’s afraid that you might turn out to be the same as him.
And she tells herself that she isn’t in love.
And she keeps repeating that she does not want to be in a relationship with you.
And she is writing about you, hoping it’ll clear her mind.
And she hates remembering every time your friends talk about the girls you’ve had, even since you two have been spending so much time together.
And she keeps telling herself that you two are not in a relationship.
And she acts like she doesn’t care.
And she is trying to look at other guys as well, but somehow it does not work for her the way it seems to do for you.
And she keeps a smile on her face.
And she keeps laughing.
And she keeps coming back to you.
Tere’s this girl. She’s sad, she’s hurting, she’s breaking. But out of habit, she keeps the canvas up.
Don’t keep hurting her. Don’t give her forehead kisses when you’re doing the same to any other girl you’ll meet on the weekends.
Don’t tell her how much she means to you when you’ll go out partying knowing she’ll be home alone waiting for your call that you’ve made it home safe.
Don’t keep hurting her. She does not deserve that. She deserves better. And if you know that there are guys out there that could make her happier than you because they’d make an effort and try, let her go.
Don’t keep that girl for yourself if you’re not planning to think about her smile whenever you need comfort.
There’s this girl. She’s typing this. She’s crying.
She fucked up.